


Motions

by ProsperDemeter



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26879833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProsperDemeter/pseuds/ProsperDemeter
Summary: “What do you want right now?”“I don’t know.”“Right now.” Peter nudged his shoulder gently. “Don’t think. Just say whatever comes to mind.”“I don’t know.”“Yes you do.” Harry glared at a crack in the road, set his jaw and chewed at his lip. “What do you want?”
Relationships: Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	Motions

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes so this story is weird and I hate it but WARNING: this does mention vaguely a suicide attempt by Harry that Spider-Man stopped. If that bothers you please skip the italics but otherwise I tried to keep it pretty vague.

_ “I lost my way all the way to you and in you I found all the way back to me.” ~ Atticus _

* * *

There’s a moment, on the day after you thought the world would end, where you’re laying up looking at the ceiling in the dark as the clock ticks to a new day and you just start to cry. It wasn’t an overwhelming wave of emotion but, rather, the lack thereof. It’s a giant black pit in the middle of your stomach that’s threatening to eat you alive and leave only a shell - breathing and pulsing - with  _ nothing _ . It’s… a missing piece that you don’t even know  _ when _ it got lost so you don’t even know where to start looking for it. 

It didn’t hurt because nothing felt a lot like everything. 

Motions. 

Go through the motions. 

He had no choice but to go through the motions. 

So the day after the world was meant to end, the day that he was never meant to see the sunrise for, he threw on the expensive tug of freshly cleaned denim, pulled one button through the allotted hole, smoothed down the pressed blue shirt, shoved his feet into brown leather and grabbed his bag to sling over his shoulder. He went to school. He turned in his homework. He ate his lunch. He  _ existed _ in a world that only made his skin itch. 

“Harry,” Miss Oliveria knelt in front of him, her hand soft on the desk in front of his own and eyes concerned. Concerned. What good did concern do? “Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” 

“No.” His voice didn’t sound right even to his own ears and he pushed away from the desk hard enough that the legs of the chair squealed over the linoleum. She sighed, a deep and heaving thing, and stood up after him, his name an echo in the empty room. Empty. Empty.  _ Empty. _

His back hit the wall and he slid down until the cold press of the floor seeped into the seat of his pants. He tilted his head forward until his bangs, long and shaggy and  _ unacceptable _ , brushed against his knuckles. He shut his eyes and wished that the pit in his stomach would swallow him whole. 

The bell rang, he tucked his feet into his body and the sea passed him by, crashed over his surface and tore him apart like erosion. 

Existing was so very hard. 

He pushed up from the ground on legs that were unfairly steady and, with his head ducked down low, followed the last dregs of his classmates into his next classroom. Mister Harrison started his typical drone, excited and happy and everyone was so  _ happy _ and  _ full _ and it was so incredibly unfair that he was so hollow. His pen danced over the page, the ink smudging on the heel of his hand, but the comforting shape of the darkness that he felt everyday tugged at something low in his stomach. “Mister Osborn?” Him. 

That was him. 

He looked up and caught the gaze of the entire class weighing on his shoulders. 

The pen stuttered on the page. 

Mister Harrison raised his bushy eyebrows behind the window of his glasses and if he said the question again Harry didn’t hear it. Again. He blinked. And then blinked again and then kept his eyes shut until all the eyes stopped looking. Stopped hoping for something that he wasn’t. Stopped looking for a ghost of a father in the image of the son. 

“Mister Osborn,” Mister Harrison dropped into the seat opposite him after the bell rang and Harry slowly, methodically, moved his things into his bag. “Harry.” His arms were crossed, his head was cocked, and he was looking at Harry as though he were a science experiment he couldn’t figure out. “You know we’re all here for you right? If… if you need anyone to talk to -.” 

“No, thank you, sir.” Polite to a fault. 

Teachers had always said that was a good thing before. 

He didn’t collapse even if he felt as though he could in the hallway among the sea of students. Loud, angry, pressuring from all sides. It was as though everyone saw him and no one noticed at the same time. 

Why hadn’t he done it the night before? Why would he force his body to move when it just wanted to  _ stop _ ? 

_ I promise there’s so much to live for. _

Right. 

“Peter,  _ don’t _ -” 

“Hey Harry.” He blinked, wrinkled his forehead despite himself at the crooked smile and soft brown eyes. Peter Parker. They had always been on the opposite sides of the social spectrum of Midtown High - Parker had his friends, few as they were but loyal and Harry… well Harry had Liz until she left. And then he had business meetings and suits and ties and Flash Thompson’s stuttering kindness until it had faded out. “Do you want to go somewhere?” 

“I…” It was the middle of the school day, the middle of the afternoon, bodies were still pressing in on them and Ned Leeds, the boy with the Star Wars shirts and had dated Betty Brandt for a short time the year before,  _ gaped _ openly at his friend. 

“Wherever you want. Right now.” 

“It’s… the middle of the school day.” 

Peter Parker shrugged and his hands stuffed themselves in the pockets of his pants. “Come on.” He jerked his head to the side, towards the exit. “My treat.” 

“ _ Please just… please get down and I promise everything will be so much better.” The wind teased at his feet and brushed through his hair making it stand on end. He had been so sure just a moment before, had been easing his fingers off the concrete they had held onto.  _

_ “But what if it’s not?” And there it was, the never ending  _ what if _.  _

__ _ “Come on, I’m a superhero. When have I ever not kept my promises?”  _

__ _ “You don’t understand.” _

__ _ “I think I might. Please… just trust me. Just this once.” He held out a hand, blue and red with threads of black before shaking off a glove Harry hadn’t realized was there until he had removed it. So that there was flesh - tanned and human and quivering fingers from the chill in the air this high up.  _

__ _ “… Okay.” _

__ “... Okay.” 

* * *

“When I lost my Uncle Ben I didn’t know what to do anymore.” Contrary to what Peter Parker had said they weren’t  _ doing _ anything except walking, Harry’s head down and Peter’s head up to face the world’s prying eyes. They had walked aimlessly for a long while, the noises of the city loud to their ears and vibrantly alive despite how  _ fake _ Harry felt. They hadn’t spoken, hadn’t said anything beyond the hallway until then, Peter’s eyes still forward and Harry’s head still down to gaze at the pavement under his feet. Peter’s canvas shoes next to his leather ones looked… odd. Different. Somehow right. “I came back to school after a week and… if it wasn’t an  _ I’m sorry _ it was  _ nothing _ . After two weeks they wanted me to go back to being the same person I always had been but… everything felt really empty.” 

Empty. 

Harry looked up at him, caught the glare of the sun bouncing off a building and painting his brown hair gold and the quirk of a smile when their eyes met. “I know it’s not the same but…” Peter shrugged and, well, Harry shrugged too. 

It wasn’t the same. Harry looked at the cars layered in traffic and counted the license plates as they drove by. At thirty he said, “I don’t want to be empty anymore.” 

“What do you want right now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Right now.” Peter nudged his shoulder gently. “Don’t think. Just say whatever comes to mind.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“ _ Yes _ you do.” Harry glared at a crack in the road, set his jaw and chewed at his lip. “What do you want?” Peter repeated, softer and gentler than anyone had spoken to him before. 

And he didn’t know what he wanted. Harry didn’t know  _ anything _ aside from the hole in his chest. He didn’t know anything except everything that he  _ did _ know and what he wanted didn’t matter, it never  _ mattered _ and… “Ice cream.” He blinked at his own absurdity. 

“Ice cream it is.” 

It was cold against his tongue and a shock to his taste buds but Harry had never felt so warm. 

* * *

“Are you guys like…  _ friends _ now?” 

“I don’t know. He just… needed someone to be there, I think.” 

“Peter. It’s… it’s not your job.” 

“This isn’t a job, Ned.” 

“What happened sucks, man, but…”

“But what?”

“Are you… are you really friends with him now? After everything?” 

“No one deserves to go through this alone.” 

“No, I… I know that.” 

“And so what if I am? That’s my decision to make, isn’t it?” 

* * *

It was odd to feel like a passive observer in your own life. It was even weirder to know that you  _ had _ to be an active participant even if you didn’t know how. 

Or maybe he was thinking too much again. 

He pressed a knuckle against his eyes and looked across the table at… friends. Were they friends? Did Harry even  _ have _ friends anymore? They were all so talkative and vibrant and he was so… quietly stagnant. Flash gestured animatedly to Bret, mentioned something about a party and girls and drinks. “Are you going to come?” Betty asked from her silent sentinel beside him, licking her lips after a swallow of water. 

“Uh…” He picked at his wilting salad and shook his head. 

No one was surprised. 

“Well, if you want to it’s at MJ’s place. Her parents are out of town for the weekend so she decided to throw a put together rager.” 

“A put together rager?” 

Betty laughed a little and it sounded like twinkling bells. “Yeah. I don’t know what that means either.” 

“It means you pick up after yourselves.” Michelle Jones said with a scoff, sat on Harry’s other side without asking or greeting and flipped her book to wherever she had last left it. “You should come.” Behind her came what Flash called her  _ lost puppies _ . Ned glanced once at all of them and sat next to Michelle, Peter rolled his eyes and waited for Bret to make room on the bench before sitting next to him. 

“Hey Harry.” He said his name with a smile and something like the bite of ice cream soothed the flames of emptiness in his stomach. 

“Hi, Peter.” 

“Here, you have to try this. My aunt is  _ obsessed _ with this Thai place down the street from us and the owner has a massive crush on her.” He held the container out towards him, seemingly oblivious to the stares of their friends around them. It smelled delicious, looked like something Harry never would have eaten before. 

“I don’t…” 

“Eat meat. I know.” Peter smiled some more, shook the container until Harry took a bite from the fork. “Good, isn’t it?” He waited until Harry nodded and then tucked into eating, himself. 

Betty’s elbow dug in almost sharply to Harry’s side and she looked at him with wide eyes. He shook his head, his own lips tugging themselves upwards into an echo of the smile he had once proudly brandished for all to see. His tongue tasted of tangy sauce and soft noodles. “Are you coming to the party?” MJ asked without looking up from her book, as though the answer didn’t bother her either way. 

“Maybe.” 

She shrugged. “Cool.” 

* * *

“You made it.” Flash sounded shocked from his perch by the doorway, a red solo cup half filled in hand. 

“Astute observation.” Michelle rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let Harry in. It was sweltering warm in the tiny home and there was already a pile of coats and belongings stuffed in the corner. 

“I uhm…” Harry shook the bottle to draw attention to that instead of his lack of layers.

“Shit, bro.” Flash grabbed it from his hand. “Is that a ‘42? This shit is  _ vintage _ .” 

“I think it’s customary that it goes to the  _ host _ .” Michelle yanked it from his fingers and looked appreciatively at the label, her fingers running over the french swirls of the name with a tiny smile. “Thanks. Peter’s in the main room.” 

“Why would he care where Peter is?” 

“Wow.” Her eyes rolled. “Are you a dick all the time or do you just not realize when you’re turning it on thick?” 

“What did I do?” 

A breath of laughter found its way out of his mouth, soft but noticed if only by the way Flash’s eyes sparked as though he hadn’t heard the noise in years. He looked shocked only until Michelle kicked at his shin and told him to stop guarding her door. “I think everyone I invited is here anyway.” 

“This is  _ everyone _ you invited?” Flash looked devastated. “Jones, this party is going to be  _ shit _ .” 

“She didn’t throw it for you.” 

They both blinked at him and then Michelle laughed, loud and triumphant directly into Flash’s shocked face. “Ha! What he said.” 

It went a bit in a whirlwind, then. A small party in the eyes of Flash and Bret but a bigger one than most of the decathlon kids ever managed to see. There was both less and more drinking, less and more drama. Harry stuffed himself into the farthest corner of the packed room and resigned himself to watching MJ passionately argue politics with a few upperclassmen when Peter, breathless from wherever he had disappeared to, shoved his way to his side, a dripping water bottle in his hand. “Do you want to get some air?” He said after a moment of staring. 

Harry’s lips twitched and he scuffed a foot on the rug. “Why? Is it a little stuffy in here?” 

“Did you just make a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of that.” Peter rolled his eyes and his words didn’t sting, even if they would have if they were delivered by anyone else. “ _ Yes _ , it’s a little stuffy in here.” 

“Maybe I like where I am.” 

“It  _ is _ an enviable corner.” 

“It is.” 

“Mind if I just… stay in it with you then?” 

He cocked his head and Harry found he  _ didn’t _ mind. Would welcome the company even. He shuffled himself over just a bit to make room and Peter settled beside him, warm in an even warmer room. “Thank you so much for sharing your corner with me.” He said after a moment, the plastic of the water bottle creaking under his hands as he twisted it this way and that. 

“Thanks for…” Only Harry wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for. For somehow managing to be the warmth to his cold? For nudging his way to his side when he didn’t  _ have _ to? For…. Harry didn’t know. “I mean…” 

“What do you want?” 

“What?”

“Right now. Without thinking. What do you want?” His lips quirked up into a sheepish laugh and Peter’s louder one followed suit. “Because  _ I _ want some air. Coming?” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Okay.” 

* * *

**To Peter:** I don’t really miss my dad. 

**From Peter:** That’s fair. 

* * *

“Hi.” Harry gripped the straps of his bag tightly and rocked on the balls of his feet. Ned looked at him with wide, shocked eyes. Peter smiled and it looked like the sun. 

“Hey.” He elbowed Ned. 

“H… Good morning.” 

“Did you…” Harry licked his lips. “Did you have a good weekend?” 

“Yeah, pretty good.” Peter’s fingers toyed with a pencil - he was always moving. “How was yours?” 

“Board meeting.” He rolled his eyes with a small scoff. 

“¡Buenos días, clase!” Miss Oliviera called from the front of the room and Harry ducked his head before continuing on his way to his desk in the back, something like a blush coating his cheeks.

* * *

**From Peter:** Hey! 

**To Peter:** Hi

**From Peter:** Do you want to grab some ice cream after school tomorrow? 

**From Peter:** You got me addicted to ice cream in winter.

**From Peter:** Don’t worry, it can be your treat. 

**To Peter:** Ha! 

**To Peter:** Sounds like a chore 

**From Peter:** Please? 

**To Peter:** I never said no

**From Peter:** !! 

**From Peter:** I’ll meet you outside the caf?

**To Peter:** Okay

* * *

“No way that happened.” Peter said through a spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough, eyes alight with laughter. 

“It  _ totally  _ did.” 

“Flash got  _ that _ wasted? And no one knew?” 

“Nope.” Harry popped the p before rubbing at the cold tip of his nose. “If anyone noticed they didn’t say anything, anyway. We played it off that he had just eaten something funny.”    
“Wow.” Peter drew out the word, long and awed and then sucked on the spoon as if in thought. His lips were very pink. “What about you? Why don’t you drink?” 

“Dad drank a lot.” 

“Ah. May only keeps like one bottle of wine in the apartment but almost never drinks it. Ben was a recovering alcoholic.” 

“I never really saw the appeal of it.” Harry continued after a moment of pause. “I’ve never been one to want to lose control completely when I already have such a shit grasp on my life.” 

Peter snorted sardonically. “I hear that.” 

They toasted with their ice cream containers, fingers wrapped in gloves and paper cups half fallen apart and soggy from the ice cream mixed with snow falling from the sky. Harry looked up, traced the shape of the fluffy white clouds with his blue eyes and asked the sky rather than Peter’s earnest face. “When did you stop feeling empty?” 

“You ask some hard questions, Harry Osborn.” Peter said it in such a way that Harry couldn’t help laughing and ducking his head before looking back up at him through his dark eyelashes. He studied him for a moment, his brown eyes looking past whatever guard Harry had thought he had put up to see the healing hole on the inside. “It’s a gradual thing.” Peter shrugged. “Sometimes I still feel that Ben shaped hole in my chest and just want to climb into it. But I don’t think that’s what he would have wanted for me, so I always try to climb back out.” 

“I think that’s what he would have wanted for me.” 

“Who?” 

“My dad. I don’t think he would have wanted me to be okay again.” 

“And what about you?” 

“What?” 

“What do you want?” 

“Right now? Without thinking?” 

Peter laughed, the tips of his ears read. “Yeah. Right now. Without thinking.” 

Harry looked at him, studied the curve of his cheeks and line of his jaw, the bow of his lips and the gentle puff of his hair from under his hat and, without thinking, met his lips with his own. Contrary to whatever belief Harry would have had if he had thought about the action, Peter didn’t push him away but, instead, wrapped a hand in his lapel to hold him closer. He tasted like the chocolate of his ice cream, his nose was a cold sort of warm that chased away whatever ghost was left in Harry’s belly when it brushed against his own and, when they broke apart - mere millimeters between them - his hand unshakably brushed the hair - long, much too long - away from Harry’s face and tucked it behind his ear. Peter leaned forward this time, a warm hand to his cheek and the other curving around his waist to hold him close, ice cream long forgotten on the table beside them. 

* * *

**To Peter:** I was going to die.

**From Peter:** I’m really glad you didn’t. 

* * *

“I hate that you’re friends with them now.” Flash complained loudly but made no move to leave from where he lounged in Peter’s desk chair, a rubber band ball tossing up and down in the air to slap back against the skin of his hand. 

“No you don’t.” Harry said dryly from where he laid, his head resting on Peter’s stomach and his fingers toying with his hair as he flicked through his biology notes. 

“No, I don’t.” It was softer than Flash normally spoke, much too soft for Harry to hear but not too soft for Peter. His lips twitched up in a smile, but he pretended not to have heard it from where he sprawled against his pillows. 

“Make room, make room.” Ned kicked at Peter’s legs until he curled them up with a huff, a bowl of popcorn in his arms. “We have Terminator one and two to watch, lovebirds, up you sit.” 

“Terminator?” Flash groaned. “Could you be more stereotypical?” 

“Is that a challenge?” MJ shoved his chair so he went spinning and grabbed the rubber band ball in an impressive show of reflexes. “Because I will end you, Thompson.” 

“You’re a terrifying woman, Michelle Jones.” 

“Thank you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Convince me this wasn't a waste of three hours please?


End file.
